Amor Fati
by Sparabella
Summary: A woman loses the only thing she's ever wanted, ever loved-desperate to flee the pain, she tries to end her life, only to find that the one waiting for her when she wakes up is who she has wanted all along. Carlisle/Esme canon snapshot-4 chapters. Rated M
1. Chapter 1 Lost

**Chapter 1-Lost**

**Esme's POV**

I paced back and forth frantically between my small, lumpy bed in the corner of the one-room cabin that I called home and the bassinet which was situated only feet away from it. My heart pounded wildly as my stomach whirled with a worry unlike anything I had ever known before. I tried desperately to calm my rapidly growing anxiety. I knew it was a futile act, but I didn't know what else to do given the circumstances.

My whole world, my entire existence had completely changed in the last several days. When my little Thomas was born not even a week ago, he had immediately become the center of my small, sad universe. He had brought a sunshine to my life that I had long forgotten, and I knew that he was my single reason for living. I was still in awe of that simple fact – that something so small could be so perfect and could bring another person so much love so freely. I'd felt as though he was my purpose, the reason that I existed, and yet, he'd only been in this world for six short days. I didn't understand the effect he had on me, but I welcomed it.

The sound of his tiny, wheezing breath pulled me from my spinning thoughts, and my feet rushed to his bassinet without me telling them to do so, as if on instinct. The tears, which had threatened to fall all evening, stung my eyes as I reached for him, softly cradling his frail little body to my chest as he continued to wheeze heavily.

"Shh, Thomas. It's alright, my sweet boy," I whispered in his ear, praying the doctor would arrive soon.

I knew there was no denying that Thomas' breathing was getting worse now, each inhale seemed harder for him than the last, if that was even possible, and I thanked God that Mrs. Nielsen had offered to fetch the doctor for me this evening. Without her, I couldn't consider what I would have done. I was unable to leave him at home, and alone he wouldn't do without me. Fear nearly plagued me, and I had no idea what to do to ease his labored gasps of air other than to hold him close and pray. Pray that it would all be okay.

I resumed my frantic paces with my sweet baby boy cradled in my arms. I kept him upright over my shoulder, rubbing his back eagerly, hoping it would ease his burdensome breathing – if even only just a little. My mind was a torrent of fear, and the worst possible outcomes circulated through my mind as I considered that his breathing might not ease soon enough. I wondered once again how long it would be before the doctor finally arrived. I knew that if he didn't arrive in time, I couldn't possibly survive such an ordeal. That thought alone almost crippled me as I pulled Thomas closer to me in desperation.

I murmured my love for Thomas, every inch of my very being willing the doctor to arrive. I couldn't fathom what could possibly be taking him so long—it felt as though it had been hours since Mrs. Nielsen had left, and she had done so in a hurry. I knew that he should be here by now. In fact, I found myself very nearly on my way out the door with Thomas in my arms to find the doctor myself when the sharp knock sounded throughout my small house and broke me from my thoughts.

With a large breath of relief, I pulled Thomas closer to me and rushed for the door. I stepped aside so the large, older man could come in through the door. His gray hair was disheveled, cheeks and nose red with the bite of the bitter cold outside.

"Dr. Harrison! Thank God!"

"Now, just calm down, Mrs. Evanson."

"Platt," I automatically spat out, unwilling to be associated with the man whose name I used to share.

His eyebrows met together above his nose. "Pardon?"

"Miss Platt."

"Oh...I beg your pardon," he mumbled with a frown, easing Thomas from my arms.

"I'm going to need a heavy blanket. Oh, and please boil some water," he said, his focus now fully on my son.

I scurried first for the blanket, which Dr. Harrison placed on the kitchen table, followed by Thomas' small, frail body. It was clear that his breathing was getting worse even still, but I tried to funnel all of my attention to boiling the water that the Doctor had asked for rather than focus on the heavy, labored breaths my son was struggling to take just behind me.

When I turned around, his frown was still displayed, and my baby's weak cry was full of a desperate struggle. My heart lurched frantically within me, propelling my feet forward and pushing me closer to the table. I didn't notice as the cold sweat spread across my brow, the physical manifestation of my fear was clear for all to see.

I stood by the table, my heart pounding as my teeth tugged on my bottom lip and I wrung my hands together viciously, twisting my fingers together repeatedly. I knew there was truly nothing I could do and that the doctor knew what he was doing, but I had never felt so helpless as I watched as Dr. Harrison press the metal stethoscope against my Thomas' tiny chest.

My baby's cry finally stopped, though I felt no relief. My eyes instinctively darted to the doctor, terrified. The room was suddenly plunged into a horrible silence—the sound was so wrong and a part of me willed the labored breaths to return as confusion racked my senses.

Dr. Harrison picked Thomas up from the table, wrapping the blanket around his small body once more. The wheezing was now gone, but I couldn't process why or what had happened as a sheet of disbelief covered my senses. My eyes met the doctor's old, gray gaze, and in it, I found sympathy, sadness, regret...but they were all of the wrong things. He should be happy—happy he saved my son, happy he wasn't struggling for breath, but receiving air just fine now...yet he wasn't.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Platt. I...there was nothing to be done for this young one. He had too much fluid in his lungs. I'm sorry," he whispered again.

I shook my head wildly.

"No. No, you're wrong, Dr. Harrison. He's tired. It's been such a difficult week for him," I explained, willing him to understand that it was okay, that Thomas was fine, that he just needed some sleep.

Tears fell from my eyes, hot trails of liquid that I could barely process as I begged the doctor to see the truth.

"He's—he's fine, doctor. Please. Please check him again, and you'll see. He has to be okay. He's all I have left. He's fine. He has to be."

The doctor blinked slowly, and through my blurring vision, I saw his throat bob with a large swallow as he shook his head.

"No, my dear. I'm so sorry, but he's not breathing. His heart has stopped, and he is no longer with us. He's gone."

"No," I whispered. "No. Give him to me; he's fine. He just needs his mother," my words stuck in my throat—unwilling to communicate what this man couldn't seem to understand.

He finally handed my bundled son to me, and I sighed in relief at the warmth that filled my arms. I willed myself to look into his tiny, beautiful face. His eyes were closed, his lips tinged slightly blue. His chest was still...too still, and my grasp around his body tightened.

"No," I whispered, my bottom lip shaking between my teeth. "No, he's not," I said, finally finding the doctor's face again. "He can't be."

"I'm sorry," he whispered again as I fell to the chair beside me, clutching my son's lifeless body to my being as sobs escaped from a part of me I'd never been aware of – never knew existed until Thomas was born. I gazed down onto his delicate features as my arms wrapped tighter still around his body, pulling him closer to me.

"Will you be alright by yourself for a minute, Miss Platt? I'm going to go fetch Mrs. Nielsen. She'll..." he paused, clearing his throat. "She'll know how to better console you, dear."

I didn't answer. The world faded away as my eyes once again zeroed in on my amazing little miracle. I was vaguely aware that Mrs. Nielsen came into the room at some point, but I paid her no attention. I heard her whispers with Dr. Harrison and felt the sharp pinch of the shot in my arm before falling into an odd sleep of the past and present swirled together in a haze of confusion and pain. I knew I wasn't awake, but I felt every ounce of misery within my soul as though I were. Only one thought was truly clear to me.

_I wanted to die._

Images of _him_ fell through my mind in quick succession, pulling wave after wave of terror throughout my very being as I tossed and turned in the linen sheets.

I'd married Charles to make my family happy. He was wealthy and established. He should have made me happy....but he didn't. He quickly morphed into my biggest nightmare, hurting me over and over again as I battled against my sleep. I was sure he'd found pleasure in doing so, just as I had thought he did a few years ago, though I still couldn't understand now any better why a man would do such a thing.

Perhaps he sensed I didn't truly love him—that my mind remembered a man that I easily could have fallen in love with, married, had a family with of my own free will a man I had often thought about over the years. I was sure he was a man who would never have hurt me the way that Charles did. He could have made me happy, truly happy.

_Dr. Cullen._

Before my mind had time to comprehend any one single thought with clarity the pictures fell away, and, for a brief moment, my tossing and turning subsided as I allowed the nothingness to consume me – blanketed under the comfort of Dr. Cullen. After a long moment I was barely aware of the next set of lucid imagery that filled my mind.

_Apples._

It took a moment before the scene fully unfolded around me; I was standing in a warm fall afternoon. There was not a cloud in the sky and only a gentle breeze passed me by, coaxing great joy from the depths of my soul.

I remembered this day well. I was sixteen. I'd climbed a big apple tree in front of our house to find the best, reddest apple of the bunch. I'd lost my footing on a branch and fell. I had been nauseated at the crunch that came from my leg when I hit the ground, right before the worst pain I'd ever known in my life shot through from the top of my leg and through every limb, through to the tips of my every finger.

_Pain._

What had I known of pain then?

I was unable to follow my thought process as the scene once again whirled around me and raced on ahead of me as I struggled to keep up.

Pain, but he made it better...

_Dr. Cullen._

He had been the most exquisite man I'd ever seen, with shiny, beautiful blond hair that I wanted to run my hands through. His eyes had been the strangest color of amber and gold. They captivated me. His smell...oh, he smelled of heaven and love and everything that was right in the world. I would have easily run away with him had he suggested it that day.

_Beautiful._

I'd been baffled at the fact that he hadn't married.

_Should have married...Dr. Cullen..._

The pain of him setting my leg was nothing as I lost myself in his eyes – re-enacting that fateful day where we had once met.

_Dr. Cullen._

I grasped the air around me as I tried to hold on to the image of his beautiful face as it fell away from my mind, and I recoiled under a cold sweat as it was quickly replaced by my inner-most demon.

_Charles._

I'd been foolish and had settled for Charles, not that there had been any other option for me.

His black hair and dark gray eyes flashed in the forefront of my mind, and I feared I was no longer sleeping. I was running, little Thomas screaming as I clutched him to my chest and pushed myself to run further away from the monster that would hurt us. His eyes were angry and wild—and when they were like that, it always resulted in pain...a hurt that went deeper than flesh and blood.

"Esme."

"Esme," he called for me with the voice of an angel.

_Dr. Cullen_.

He would save me from Charles, from the fear and pain. He would...

_Pain._

It tore through my heart, burning, pulling and consuming my very being. I cried out, screaming for the hurt to leave, to stop tormenting me, hurting me.

"Esme."

I jumped, darting up from the mattress, soaked in sweat, hair clinging to my forehead, heart pounding in my ears as fresh tears streamed down my face. My eyes finally focused on her. Mrs. Nielsen was a kind old woman, my widowed neighbor. Her intense blue eyes studied me for a long moment before she finally interrupted the silence around us.

"Are you okay, dear?"

Tears streamed from my eyes as I tried to remember what was happening. My dream had been so very disconcerting. My eyes focused on her, and my very full and sore chest pulled me back into my reality, and I shook my head.

"Thomas," I whispered, clutching at my heart and falling back against the pillow, not caring how undignified of an act it was. I didn't have it in me to concern myself with impropriety.

Mrs. Nelsen's soft, warm hand brushed against my forehead.

"I'm so sorry, dear. It was just one of those things that happen. I lost a little one...my first, and I know your pain, my dear. It hurts something awful."

She continued to talk, but her voice blurred in my mind and heart until all I could think of was my sweet baby boy.

"Where is he?" I croaked out finally, interrupting her long monologue.

"Dr. Harrison took him to the morgue, Esme. I called the pastor, and he will be by tomorrow. The funeral will be two days from now."

I nodded, not really understanding, but not having the strength to ask anything else.

I fell in and out of sleep, not having the motivation to will myself out of bed. Mrs. Nielsen would occasionally come into the room with me when I awoke, but at other times, I awoke alone. I was numb, unthinking and unfeeling as I left my bed only when absolutely needed. The days passed as such, until my kind old neighbor finally pulled me from my bed, somehow making me look presentable enough to attend Thomas' funeral. My eyes watched the reverend's lips move, but I heard only blurs of noise that continued as people offered condolences and cast looks of pity.

He was in the smallest casket I'd ever seen. It was simple and oak, just big enough for his tiny, frail body. Someone had dressed him in a white gown and bonnet with a blue, knitted blanket draped lovingly around his form. I could almost make myself believe that he was simply asleep,except for all of my neighbors huddled together in the cemetery, and all of the black and the solemn faces. Finally, except for the big, gaping hole in the ground and the simple white cross with 'Thomas Pratt 1921' engraved upon it. No. It was real, every part of it, and yet I couldn't feel it. I couldn't cry, and I couldn't hurt. There was nothing existing within me anymore.

Mrs. Nielsen and I walked back to my house in silence. She held onto my arm as she spoke softly, and somewhere within me knew she was only trying to console, trying to help. I tried to let her, but there was nothing to grasp onto...nothing to say or do or feel anymore.

"Mrs. Nielsen, if you wouldn't mind too terribly much, I think I would just like to be alone for awhile," I said, my voice not sounding like my own. It was weak and gravelly...completely devoid of any inflection.

"Of course, dear. I will be over in a few hours to bring you some supper. Why don't you try and get some rest?"

I nodded and watched dumbly as she walked out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

Everything crashed upon me in that moment. The memories of each day, each moment of his short life, the feeling of him in my arms, the sound of his cry that still echoed off the walls, the terrible two days he was sick and the sound of his wheezing, labored breaths.

My legs gave way, and I crumpled to the floor under the weight of the sudden feeling that I had everywhere and the ache that consumed every bit of my being. Tears fell as I screamed, unable to contain myself, unable to control my volume or the words of pain pouring from my mouth.

"Why?!" I screamed into the cold, empty house. "Why him?!"

Sobs erupted from within me, and I couldn't move; I couldn't focus on anything but the memories held within those four walls. I had to get out. I had to leave. For the sake of my own sanity, I couldn't stay in the place that he'd arrived—the place that he'd departed. His entire life had been within this house, and now, I couldn't take being in the midst of it.

I scrambled to my feet and out the door without much thought to where I was going. The cold evening air hit me with a crisp blast, and I pushed myself outside, welcoming the discomfort of the temperature. The sun was almost below the horizon, but I couldn't find it in me to care as I walked away from the houses and into the heavy woods.

Though I had escaped the house, I could not escape my mind. My thoughts turned over and over again, wondering if I could have saved him, wondering if I had made different choices in my life, if my son could have been saved. Had I not married Charles, but instead married the mysterious doctor of my past—would my life have been different now? Would I not have lost a son, but had a loving family? Had everything that I had ever really wanted in life?

I had been so foolish—and now he was gone...never to be back in my arms again.

I was unaware of my surroundings, as though watching myself from the third person. The numbness spread through me as I looked around and took in where I was, though not really understanding much at all. It was dark, I could see that much, and the moon sat high in the clear night sky. I had no idea how long I'd been walking in the woods, but my skin was numb and unfeeling once again as my mind came back into focus. It rushed with thoughts and regrets—the things I wished I could do over again taunting me.

I was broken from my thoughts as my eyes took in the moonlit rocks before me. My breath caught in my throat as I realized that I had very nearly walked off of the edge of my path. Below was a vast canyon with a river rushing beneath me. The roaring sound was muffled by the rocks that encompassed it, and I briefly wondered how far I had journeyed. I hadn't known of a river nearby.

My stomach fluttered as my eyes focused on the black water. It sparkled with the rays of the moon in an eerie, almost welcoming way. One step...I was one step away from the edge with nothing to lose. All I had left was my pain, the memories of every hit, every angry word yelled, every flutter within my womb, every movement of his tiny hands, every cry, all of it.

It was too much pain, too much hurt. My stomach dropped as I acted before I could talk myself out of it. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. Air rushed passed my face, and I screamed. It wasn't my life that flashed before my eyes but Thomas' pink, beautiful face—followed by Dr. Cullen's golden eyes. My last thoughts would be of the only two people I had ever actually loved, of everything that had ever meant anything to me. I found a brief, quiet solace in that fact. The rocks rapidly became larger, closer, and I managed to suck in one final breath before closing my eyes, and everything went truly black.

~*~*~

**A/N: This is the first of four chapters in this short snapshot story—a look at the beginning of Carlisle and Esme. Canon Esme has a fascinating back story, and we wanted to play with it. :-) Please let us know what you think!**

**A gigantic thank you to our beta supreme, NCChris, without whom, our writing would be in very sorry shape.**

**Amor Fati: "The Fate of Love"**


	2. Chapter 2 Missing

**Chapter 2-Missing**

**Esme's POV**

I could feel nothing, not in my head or heart or body. Though there was an undercurrent of grief within my heart and baby blue eyes dancing behind my eyelids, I couldn't focus on remembering why it was there. I had no idea where I was or what had happened, and I tried to move, to sit up, but there was nothing, no feeling, no movement. Nothing.

I finally managed to pry my eyelids open, and what I saw when I opened them filled me with confusion and made me wonder what had happened to me. Surely I must have been in heaven to be able to see his face again, the beautiful, flawless face of the man I'd fallen in love with when I was sixteen. Where had he come from?

Memories flashed through my mind in quick succession.

_Charles. Thomas. The funeral. The wandering. The rocks. Oh, God. The cliffs._

Surely for an ending such as mine, for a life such as mine, this could not be heaven. I didn't deserve heaven. Yet, I couldn't imagine that I'd be anywhere else—with those eyes and that face. I had often envisioned what such a place would like, and this would surely be it. Everything about him encompassed goodness and filled me with calm. I remembered him so clearly...

"_You'll need to be more careful when climbing trees, Miss Pratt," Dr. Cullen said with a rueful smile as his cold hands worked on setting my leg and casting it._

_His eyes were bewitching and his smile completely breathtaking. All of the girls in town fawned over him, struggled to get his attention. I'd never been one for flirting, but I would have been lying had I said I didn't want his attention as well. He was beautiful, kind and intelligent. He was every girl's dream._

_I blushed at his words in spite of myself, looking down at my hands as my heartbeat increased._

"_I will, Dr. Cullen."_

_He smiled warmly, patting my arm._

"_You're all set. My nurse, Mrs. Blake, will give you a set of crutches, and I will need to see you in six weeks to remove the cast. Until then, no reckless tree climbing or acrobatics, alright?"_

_He winked, and my stomach fluttered madly._

_I nodded with a shy smile, and he left the room._

It was him. He was here with me now. Surely he must be an angel.

His eyes were troubled as they looked into mine, searching them for something.

"Esme," he said quietly, looking confused and bewildered.

Why was he so worried? I wanted to smooth away the worry lines in his forehead, but my arm wouldn't respond to my commands to move.

"Dr. Cullen?" I whispered, still unsure of why he was here with me now.

"Hang on, Esme. Be strong, and I'll be here when you wake up."

He leaned closer, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. His lips were slightly cool as they brushed against my neck. My heart fluttered, and my head spun at the contact, inappropriate as it may have been. His lips left my skin only a moment before a searing pain ripped through the flesh he'd just kissed. There was no time to think, no time to wonder as darkness consumed me once more.

**Carlisle's POV**

Rows of beds lined the walls of the ward as I walked down the aisle, taking an inventory of the bodies that now lay peacefully in their sleep. The day staff had long since left the confines of the old hospital, and I drifted from bedside to bedside, monitoring the vitals of each of the patients. The hospital was usually quiet in the evening, and I had long grown used to the soft sounds that were now so familiar to me.

I could hear the flustered heartbeat of Sister Catherine, the head nurse, in the distance as she approached the door at the far end of the ward. She was an elderly woman who had committed her life to the Church and resided in the neighboring hospital accommodation wing. It was not unusual for Catherine to continue to work after-hours, but rarely this late, and I briefly wondered if all was well.

My eyes remained focused on the limp, pale white wrist that I held in my own hand as I counted each beat of the patient's weakened heart. I was aware of the soft breeze that moved through the large, open ward before hearing the door close quietly behind me. Without taking my eyes from the hand before me, I quietly addressed the incoming nurse.

"Good evening, Sister Catherine."

The echo of her heel as she paused in her step permeated the air for a long moment before her breathy reply broke though the silence.

"Oh, Dr. Cullen. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

I gently placed the patient's hand down on the blanket before turning away and collecting my clipboard from the bedside cabinet, marking off the relevant information. I allowed my eyes to glance over the paper on the clipboard to Sister Catherine and smiled warmly as she approached.

"I hope the poor weather isn't a distraction at this late hour."

Sister Catherine shook her head as she placed the fresh linen she'd been holding on the corner of the empty bed nearest to her. She brushed away the stray strands of hair that fell across her face. Her cheeks flushed as I turned to the next bed and continued with my routine.

"Your concern is quiet unnecessary, doctor." She sighed. "I'm afraid my late hour was due to an unexpected visitor – the sheriff just left."

I drew my attention away from the woman who lay in the bed and turned to meet Sister Catherine's eye for a moment.

"I wasn't aware that he had visited tonight."

She nodded, playing with the hem of the bed sheet that sat atop of the pile of laundry.

"Yes. There was...an incident earlier...it was a tragedy, actually."

I stepped away from the bedside, my attention focused on Sister Catherine as I took in her features. Her eyes glistened under the flickering lights, though I saw her aged features in perfect clarity. Her brow furrowed as she recalled the previous events, and I wondered what had happened to stir such a reaction in Sister Catherine.

"A young woman was brought in this evening. I'm sorry I didn't say earlier; I didn't want to disturb you, doctor."

I frowned as I re-called today's roster, unable to account for the additional patient in question as Sister Catherine continued.

"They found her out by North Point...poor child. Apparently, she jumped."

Catherine placed her hand atop the pile and turned her face away.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware anyone was brought in."

She nodded softly.

"I don't understand why someone would do such a thing."

Sister Catherine always had a remarkable way of handing the loss that always surrounded us in this environment, but I also understood the intricacy of the situation. We had, on occasion, discussed religion and our individual beliefs, but I knew that theory and reality were often very different to handle.

I nodded in return as I placed my hand gently on her shoulder.

"It is not for us to understand, Catherine. The loss of human life is always a tragedy."

We stood in silence for a long moment, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The past four years had been particularly difficult for Sister Catherine and the staff at Cleveland State Hospital. We had watched the rise of the Spanish Influenza, and I had seen the magnitude of loss within the community for myself. It was much the same across the country, and though the death toll had thankfully dropped dramatically in the last year, the hospital was still over capacity with patients and had shown no significant sign of slowing down anytime soon.

Sister Catherine dusted off her apron before lifting the bale of linen once again. She raised her eyes to meet mine before drawing a deep breath.

"Don't stay too late tonight, doctor. Lord knows you are almost as pale as some of these patients."

She forced her lips into a lackluster smile, which I returned with a gentle nod.

"Thank you, Sister. I won't be long. Will you be returning from the laundry room?"

She stiffed a yawn.

"No, this is the last for today. Good night, Doctor Cullen."

I nodded.

"Good night, Sister."

Sister Catherine turned on her heel and returned to her routine. I watched as she scurried across the ward and through the double doors on the opposite end of the room. The quick succession of closing doors confirmed she made her way into the East wing, and I returned about my own business as well, moving to the next patient and checking the stat sheet at the base of the bed.

I often sought the silence of the night. It was much less distracting than the day shift and allowed me to work in peace – not that I had difficulty during the day, but there was a subtle comfort in practicing during the quiet of the night and losing myself in my thoughts and medicine. I moved from bed to bed until I was satisfied that each person was in the best possible condition before leaving to the next ward. Another hour passed, before I had once again visited every bedside, eventually returning to the unmanned main reception desk and filing away my notes.

My brow furrowed slightly at the faint echo of a heartbeat. I was positive that Sister Catherine had long since retired to her quarters on the far East wing, and due to the poor design of the hospital, I was well aware that I was not close enough to the patients' ward at that moment to have heard a heartbeat from any of them.

I placed the last file onto the cabinet before finally deciding to investigate further. It wasn't uncommon to find intruders breaking into the medicine supply closet in search of aid, and I wondered if tonight was one of those nights. However, I knew that if it was the case, the person must have been in need. The heartbeat had barely registered, even with my heightened senses, and it was sporadic at best. To be honest, I wasn't even sure if it was a heartbeat, as I had missed many of the beats before the last one.

I waited for a long moment before another soft flush of blood sounded, muted by veins and skin, and I immediately took off in that general direction. I unlocked the door into the West wing, which was only functional during the day shift, and made my way down the darkened corridors. I paused at irregular intervals as I waited for the next beat to sound and direct me, curious as to who, or what, would be here at this time—and how on earth they were surviving with such a low pulse count.

As the most recent beat sounded, I looked to the door in front of me, entirely confused. Of all the rooms to hear a heartbeat sound from, the morgue was certainly the most unlikely. I took the key from the chain and unlocked the door, making my way inside. I briefly pondered walking away—the chances of it being an actual heartbeat were very slim. No human heart could survive with such slow beats; the blood would not travel through the body quickly enough.

I paused for a moment as the thought occurred to me that perhaps it actually was a heartbeat circulated. The chances that it was one of those rare occasions in which the human body defied science was, of course, minimal to none, but I couldn't shake the unsettling notion with me. It spurred me forward, and I turned the lock, opening the heavy metal door and stepping into the cold room that was the hospital's morgue. I knew, if nothing else, that checking that the room was indeed empty of life would settle my curiosity.

White dust sheets settled across the metal worktops, hiding much of the facilities for the evening. The room, though one of the busiest in the hospital, was mostly sparse, save for a few counter tops and cupboards. To anyone not familiar with the room, one would assume it had not been in use for several years, and there was little in the way of medical tools that would counter that argument. A lone trolley was laid out in the center of the room under the crude lighting facilities. The peaks of the dust sheet outlined the contents of the body – the woman from the cliff side, no doubt. I closed the door behind me and moved into the room.

Unsurprisingly, the morgue carried a certain taboo within the hospital that I couldn't entirely relate to. I had long since surpassed any sense of a normal life span, and while I retained many of my human qualities, the sense of self preservation was one that I had sadly lost. The day staff avoided the room at all costs, and bar the sheriff, the mortician and me, most people would only enter here on their final day.

The gentle flush of blood once again sounded, and I raised my head, perplexed. Sure enough, the heartbeat had come from within these walls, and while the beat remained just as weak as before, the whooshing sound was now clearer without any barriers between it and me. Once again, I was rewarded with the sound of the blood, and without thought, I moved forward and pulled the sheet back from her head and shoulders—the chances of survival already weighing heavily upon my mind.

As I pulled the edge of the sheet to one side, revealing the patient's face and upper chest, I took an involuntary step back. Had I not known better, the woman before me could have passed as someone I had once known. Her hair was a few shades darker than that of the girl in my past, but therein remained the same caramel highlights which framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes, though closed, were strikingly similar, as were her high cheekbones and full lips.

If my heart could have beat, it would sped wildly when she opened her eyes. I had lived a long time, and there wasn't much that could surprise me after so many years of existence, but in that moment, shock overtook my senses. Her blue eyes locked onto mine, the recognition in them obvious.

"Esme," I gasped.

I watched for a long moment as I took in her delicate features and the subtle changes between the woman who lay before me and the young woman I had met ten years ago. By way of general math, it seemed appropriate that they would both be of similar age now and that the young woman that I had met before would have aged in such a way that she could, indeed, be the woman who lay before me. Something within me lurched as I wondered if fate had played a cruel hand in bringing the only woman who had consumed my thoughts daily for the past ten years on this, the day of her death.

"Dr. Cullen?"

I stared for a moment in disbelief. It really was her. Something within my soul pulled me to her, and before I had another moment to ponder the situation, her heart sounded once again. It was weaker still, and I knew within me that there was no true chance for her survival. There was nothing I could do. I considered it a miracle that she had survived this long, and no doubt, the fall would have caused substantial internal bleeding—not to mention the broken bones within her battered form. I brushed the stray hair away from her cheek, her skin almost as cool as my own to the touch as I mourned the reasons that could have possibly caused her to do such a stupid and damming thing as to jump.

The Esme I had known was headstrong and slightly stubborn but mostly craved life. Her energy and passion was clear for all to see, and as I watched closer, I could see how hollow and dead her eyes now looked, how tired and worn she had become. I wondered what had happened to have caused such a change, and I cursed myself for allowing it to happen. I had craved her company for as long as I had walked away from her that day, and a series of 'what ifs' flooded through my mind.

As her heartbeat began to falter, it was as clear today as it was the day we first met that the ties which bound me to her were as strong as ever – even more so now perhaps. I wasn't truly able to fathom the bond I felt to her then, having never felt it for another being, and it was clear the past ten years had only strengthened the pull I felt towards her as I stood by her side.

"Hang on, Esme," I whispered softly to her. "Be strong and I'll be here when you wake up," I promised, and as though on impulse, my body moved into action.

Selfishly, something in me had _refused_ to let her go, and as my hand moved across her cheek and down past her collarbone, I barely stopped to consider the consequences of my actions as I pushed her hair to the side. Too many questions flooded through my mind, and it took little to convince myself that if I wanted answers, this would be the only way to achieve them...and ultimately to keep her alive.

As I bent down, my fingers lightly traced her cheek. I kissed her forehead softly before turning her face away from mine and took a deep breath as I prepared myself. I closed my eyes and brought my lips to her neck, once again placing a chaste kiss upon her cool skin as I reconfirmed to myself this was the only way. My teeth grazed across her neck as I patiently waited for the next flush of blood, my free hand cupping her cheek as I repeated my silent prayer over and over.

The venom pooled in my mouth as I prayed that another beat would, in fact, come – without it, there would be no way for the venom to flow freely, and without that...that was a thought I wasn't willing to consider. My prayer was finally answered as I felt the blood flow weakly under her skin and without hesitation; I sunk my teeth into her neck and immediately forced the venom tightly into the wound. To draw blood would go against everything I believed in and would undoubtedly have adverse affects in this situation. I was already worried that there would not be enough blood to circulate my venom, and as I pushed the last of it into the wound, my silent mantra filled my mind. I sealed the wound with my tongue.

I moved the sheet down slightly, giving me better access to her chest as I started cardiopulmonary resuscitation. I had read the theory in a medical journal published by Dr. George Crile in nineteen hundred and four, but due to the way in which the Spanish Influenza had traveled, I had not been given an opportunity to test out this new theory. I prayed it would suffice long enough to help the venom spread as I forced her chest up and down in a bid to move the blood.

After a long moment of no noticeable changes, her body finally tensed under the intrusion of my venom. Her eyes remained closed, and though her body barely moved, I couldn't help but feel relieved. I removed my hands from her chest and gazed at her features, knowing that the venom had taken successfully. I remembered the burn of the change explicitly, and while she had not yet cried out in agony, I knew she would—and soon. My attention soon re-focused, and I knew I had to get her out of the hospital. Immediately.

*~*~*

**A/N: Thanks so much to our super beta, NCChris.**


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